


edge of desire

by theveinsofmycity



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:29:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7488078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theveinsofmycity/pseuds/theveinsofmycity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"or maybe this mattress will spin on its axis and find me on yours."</p><p>inspired by the song by john mayer</p><p> </p><p>originally posted on tumblr (http://theveinsofmycity.tumblr.com/)</p>
            </blockquote>





	edge of desire

edge of desire  
“Or maybe this mattress will spin on its axis and find me on yours.”

The biting winter air of Manhattan is even more unforgiving when he’s alone. Each inhalation sends shivers through his sinuses and spreads them all over until he’s almost numb. It hurts, but there’s something familiar about the sting, and soon enough the shivers don’t even take him by surprise.

He used to walk home with Maya from Topanga’s after doing homework, because all Riley had to do was go upstairs and usually the others had left by then. But after the three of their feelings had entangled them in messy chaos, Maya decided she would start walking home with Zay instead, leaving the other two to enjoy each other’s company and whatever other things boyfriends and girlfriends did together. He figured she didn’t want to know.

It’s Monday night, and the wind ricochets off the buildings and hits him full-force as he walks. Though the winter is something he’s gotten used to, the silence isn’t. He remembers when Maya would be rambling about her new favorite art piece so passionately he’d have to stop her from accidentally running into oncoming traffic, when she’d hum his favorite songs under her breath on nights he didn’t want to talk, knowing he’d eventually start singing along. And now, they couldn’t spend time together, though they were good at being friends, too. Frankly, it boiled down to the fact that Maya would never overstep her boundaries with Riley, and Lucas wouldn’t overstep his boundaries with either of the girls in turn. So he has to allow his walk home, which used to be marked with small, warm quiet moments and blushes and hidden smiles, become a vehicle for the cold isolation that penetrated him with every step. It was the only way.

Soon enough, he finds himself at the intersection where they used to separate each night. He waited at the corner until she safely disappeared from sight before going his own way. He would call after her disappearing silhouette, “Maya, walk faster! I’m freezing!” and she would smirk and shout back, “Ranger, go home!” because she knew he never would.

A gust of wind hits him like a ton of bricks, and the air around him lowers itself a few degrees. He walks the rest of the way home with his hands in his pockets.

 

It’s Tuesday afternoon, and he catches himself walking to the art classroom. He shakes his head, tries to turn around, but a shimmer of blonde in the corner of his eye stops him. She’s smiling huge, and Mr. Jackson is standing behind her with a matching expression. He can’t help himself from grinning either.

He used to meet her after his baseball practice each week, but it became an unspoken agreement that Zay would meet her after practice instead. It made sense, because Lucas was supposed to be keeping Riley company at Topanga’s, so Zay waited for Maya because she always volunteered to help Mr. Jackson put the supplies away and took an extra fifteen minutes. Though at the time, Lucas would lament having to wait for Maya when he was outside the art classroom door for what felt like hours – “Maya, honestly, all the good donuts will be gone!” – he loved when she pulled him inside by the t-shirt to shyly show him what she was working on.

Lucas didn’t know if he was allowed to be asking Zay about Maya’s art now that the two of them didn’t really talk, but when he and Zay were heading to practice after school on Wednesdays, he was so curious he could almost burst. Lucas knew he was about to burst and Zay would tease him, but he knew Lucas was worried about Maya being okay, so he always gave in eventually. But he was frustrated. Zay often told him the big pictures of each piece, which, for the insatiable Lucas, meant essentially nothing. He wanted to know everything – the colors, the influences, the style, all in her voice – not just, “well, man, there’s a whole lot of blue.”

He wasn’t jealous that Maya and Zay were spending all this time together. Truly, he wasn’t. He’ll admit to having moments where he misses her so much he’ll play her favorite song on repeat until he falls asleep, her favorite book on his nightstand as if it would somehow bring him closer to her. And he knows better; it is grossly unfair to conceptualize her, especially because she’s the most dynamic person he knows. He knows that there are a million things you can know about someone – favorite movie, dream job, other items on the grocery list of random facts everyone leaves lying around – without really understanding them at all. He knows all this, except he just can’t help himself. He attaches himself to her favorite things in hopes that he’s still one of them. Because Zay and Maya are just friends, and even if they were more than that, it wouldn’t be his place to interfere. All he can do is hope they make each other happy. And hope he does.

It’s Tuesday afternoon, and he steals one last glance back at her smile before walking away. He sees it again in the constellations that night, and for once, gently succumbs to the pull of sleep.

 

The next morning, when he wakes up faced with his favorite painting of hers set up proudly on his bedroom wall, he starts to shake. How awful it is to keep yourself from talking to someone because you know that if they wanted to talk to you, they would. He remembers calling her on the night after she told him to choose Riley, forgetting that nobody means it when they say, “we can still be friends.”

“Hi, Lucas,” she had answered, taken aback. “You okay?”

“Not really,” he had responded breathlessly. “Can you talk?”

He jumped in as soon as he thought she might say yes. He had a tendency to let all his frustration build up until he was so overtaken he couldn’t see straight, but he’d gotten better at handling it when he had her always willing to listen. There was something in her understanding sighs and murmured encouragements that made him want to tell her everything, every little secret he’d carried around with him forever that he knew nobody else would want to hear. He told her so, and he thought he could hear her blushing over the phone.

But then, “Hey, listen,” she had started. “You know I’m always here for you. But – um, I don’t know how to say this – well, things are changing now, and you’ve got Riley and everyone else, too. So, I just wanted to let you know that it’s okay if you don’t really need me that much anymore. I don’t want you to feel guilty about it or anything, y’know, because it’s not your fault. Like, it was going to happen eventually, and I want you to be happy no matter what. So, um, just don’t worry about it. I’ll see you around. Bye. ”

She hung up before he could even take a breath. He was shaking then, too.

 

She doesn’t spare him one glance on Thursday. His footsteps are so heavy they plunge through the inches of snow on the ground, and the ice soaks his socks. The chill is nothing new.

 

She’s sleeping in class. It’s last period with Mr. Matthews on Friday, so he’s not surprised. He remembers her dozing off when he used to sit right behind her, with her blonde hair shining in front of him and her forearm on his desk. Now, they sit farther apart, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the irony.

She’s sleeping in class, except is she really? Her face is turned towards his column, and while she makes exaggerated exhalations, she’s making faces at Riley and Zay. She sees Lucas’s quizzical expression, and, in the first act of direct contact they’ve had in months, throws her pointer finger of her mouth, silently asking him to play along. He’s frozen for a second (or longer than a second, but he figures it's a technicality), but he winks at her playfully once he regains control of his senses. Then a particular memory strikes him, and he has to turn his head away from her to hide his blush.

It was months ago. Maya had called, begging him to go with her to some late-night art show – he assumes the reason she asked him was because everyone else in their right minds would’ve been asleep – and he absolutely wasn’t budging. When he heard footsteps on the ladder outside his window, he jumped under the covers and shut his eyes, assuming she would see right through it. She popped in, her boots landing gently on the hardwood floor. He expected her to pull his blanket straight off, drag him by the collar back out the window and into the night. But he peeked his eye open and all he saw was a faint smile. She pulled his blanket up to cover him better, tucked his head better over the pillow, and kissed his cheek. Then she easily took a book from his shelf and settled at the foot of his bed.

“Maya?” he whispered groggily.

“It’s okay, Huckleberry,” she assured him. “We’ll stay in tonight.”

“But the art show,” he murmured in protest.

“Tomorrow night,” she had said, and it sounded like a promise. (He liked that very much.) 

 

On the third consecutive Saturday night that he and Riley hadn’t made plans, he wonders if he should end it with her, because he knows it’s not fair to stay if he’s not all in. But feelings are confusing, if the way Riley looks at Farkle is any indication, and he thinks it’s safer not to say anything until they’re both sure.

It’s uncomfortable, though, when they’re by themselves after Farkle and Maya have left and they can both feel that the best parts of themselves have gotten smaller, in a way. They sit in silence for a few moments, then return to doing work side by side in silence. Occasionally he’ll pipe up for her help on a question, but they usually get stuck on the same problems. But Instead of trying to work it out together, they’ve found it easier to just quietly move on; they promise they'll go back to it later, but they never do. The silence that surrounds them as they workis anything but soothing, he considers. It’s coarse and hard to swallow and suffocating. But it’s something.

He likes talking to her about the small things. Riley always listens to what he has to say, even when she’s got something else on her mind. Her family’s happy and whole and whenever he comes home from spending time with them he feels a little more complete. Her bright disposition radiates off of her and he absorbs some of it, even on the worst of days. He loves her for her brightness, intelligence, kindness. But, he realizes, as her goofy antics have the entire math class on their toes, that everyone loves her for those too.

 

His first break-up happens on a Sunday afternoon. It’s fumbling and uncomfortable and altogether unpleasant, but it ends with a hug, so he considers it a success.

They sit on the stairs of Topanga’s for a few minutes after in the first comfortable silence they’ve had in months.

“When did you know?” he wonders aloud. “About Farkle?” 

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “It started a while ago, but I wasn’t really sure for a while, y’know? Because I thought it was supposed to be you and me.”

"I thought the same thing,” he admits, “that she and I didn’t stand a chance. But, I don’t know anymore. I guess the world’s got other things in mind for us.”

"I hope so," she agrees. "Everything's changing so fast, though; I can barely keep up."

"Are you okay with it?" he wonders, because whenever he thinks about Maya he knows he is.

“Yeah,” she smiles, and leans her head on his shoulder. “I think I am.”


End file.
